Shine
by titanicavatar
Summary: When Victor fails to catch Yuuri in a lift during the exhibition programme, injuring Yuuri, the mistake comes back to haunt him to an extent that he begins to believe he could never step on ice again. As competition season begins, hearts break. Things change. Victuuri.
1. Prologue

**[Updated] (Sorry last time I got too excited and uploaded half the chapter without finishing it. I know I could've made a new chapter instead but my OCD perks up every time I think about that idea. :P)**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Yuuri on Ice.**

 **Canon divergence from episode 11. Viktuuri. Enjoy!**

* * *

PROLOGUE

* * *

Victor was nowhere to be seen.

The noise of the crowd was dulled to the back of his head. He was distracted. He was banking on muscle memory. Sweaty palms. Trembling fingertips. One moment it would seem that nothing mattered, and the next moment that everything did.

Until last night, it seemed he still had a tiny glint of hope of getting the gold. Today, it felt as if he were bound to fail.

As much as he didn't want to, he glanced up at the scores. J.J managed to pull off a good comeback, he might just make it to the podium if any of the top three screwed up. Phichit was in the rink at the moment, and guessing by the crowd reaction, he happened to be having the time of his life.

"Where's your old geezer?"

Yuuri looked at his side. It was the younger Yuri, hands shoved in his pockets and a permanent scowl on his face. From behind his platinum blond locks, Yurio threw him a piercing gaze.

"I - I don't know."

"It's barely minutes before your free skate and you don't know where your coach is? You make me laugh," he grumbled, even as an undeniable softness came over his feral expression.

Yuuri couldn't think of anything to say. In fact, he wasn't sure how much of his brains were properly functioning. A little ago he felt as if he had difficulties holding himself up. As a split-second of awkward silence followed, Yurio smacked him lightly on the shoulder.

"I just came to say - I - good luck," Yurio took in a sharp breath, before reverting to his typical nauseated face as he turned to leave, "Do not disappoint everyone this time."

Yuuri clenched his fists. _Do not disappoint._

The digital watch on his wrist ticked. Phichit's performance halted to an end with a loud applause. The guy gave him a smile as he passed by. Yuuri's moment had arrived.

The lights hurt his eyes. The damned disoriented sensation again. Even as an odd grief clenched at his heart, he knew he had to perform. The world that wanted Victor back was watching. Minako-san was on the balcony cheering him with a large glittering banner. His peers were watching. Yurio was watching. His family, the triplets - everyone was watching; everyone but that one person he wanted to the most.

Victor, that dummy. Sometimes he too sucked at handling situations under pressure.

He knew what he had to do. Perform like poetry. Bid farewell. Bring Victor back to where he belonged. No, not him. The ice. It was Victor's first love, and perhaps the truest one, and today, even without Victor watching, he hoped he'd be able to show him he loved him enough to let him go.

He glided into the rink and took the pose. Achingly glanced at the empty space near the railing. The music began.

 _"After the final, let's end this."_

Thinking about it now, it probably had come out the wrong way. To say Victor had been shocked was an understatement. The poor beautiful man right out of the shower, he must've had thought Yuuri had some sort of strategy or technical improvement in mind. His blue eyes had gone so wide that Yuuri had to look away.

 _"Why?"_ It was stoic.

There was a million ways Yuuri could've answer that question. But he had chosen none. " _It's getting late. We can talk about this later, you know. No pressure._ "

It hadn't been a very nice thing to say. Nor was the idea to leave things hanging between them, like that. _"I see,"_ Victor had said; he sounded understanding, yet somewhat detached. Yuuri could hear the rustle of sheets behind him; since the last few nights Victor had slumped over him, lovingly buried his head at the crease of his neck or on his chest (when asked, Victor had dramatically announced he was getting old and needed the warmth). Tonight, he was already on the second bed, reaching out to switch off the side lamp.

 _"Yuuri?"_

 _"Hmm?"_

 _"You want me to be by your side during the free skate tomorrow, don't you?"_

He didn't reply. The more he yearned, the more selfish he had felt. He had hoped the answer was too obvious to be required to be channelised in literal words. After all, he had never been good with words. Staring at the ring on his finger gleaming against the shadow play of the moonlight through the hotel window, he had drifted off to sleep.

By the time he had woken up the next morning, Victor was different. By the time of the event, Victor was gone.

The piano's tempo was accelerating. It was time for the triple axel jump.

 _"You always tend to flub your jumps when something's on your mind, Yuuri."_

He wouldn't. Not this time. Victor had pulled him up from zero, supported him through his innumerable falls; he missed him right then, even in the middle of the rink. He missed how Victor jumped into a happy hug, how he wrapped his arms around him from behind, or pulled him close by the arm for a selfie, or threw his weight on him and surprised him with a kiss. He missed poking him on the head where Victor would say his hair was thinning out. This performance was an ode to his hero, and he wouldn't mess it up this time.

The triple axel had landed perfectly. A spasm of applause. He thought the height was good enough, given how light-headed he felt.

Quadruple toe loop. Perfectly landed again. For a moment they felt effortless. For a moment it seemed he was harnessing energy out of the music. He felt like a ripple in the water, dancing along the troughs and peaks of the wavelengths of sound.

 _"I wish you'd never retire."_

He wished Victor had never said that. This was where Victor went wrong, filling his head with a dream that didn't matter in the larger picture. Yurio was fifteen, and he had already surpassed Victor's record. Victor couldn't have remained unfazed by this. Yuuri had seen it in his eyes. The past eight months came flashing back to Yuuri: he had undergone all those struggles only to qualify for the finals by a hair's width; till now all he had been trying to do was to prove to himself that he didn't suck in a career he had chosen for himself, and to Victor that his efforts on him were worth the pain. But what did it mean to the world? How did he measure up to Yurio? What did he have that nobody else did? Why was he letting Victor watch his glory shatter; why was he denying him a chance to regain it?

The piano descended to a low. He could hear the commentator's faint voice as if it was coming from the end of a tunnel, _"So far so good... Is Yuuri Katsuki going to attempt the quadruple flip again? While he was unable to land it in the China Cup..."_

Well, what could he say. Victor had always liked surprises.

* * *

Where did he go wrong?

The breeze tingled on Victor's skin. He had been standing in front of the sea for the last two hours, lost. He rubbed the golden ring on his lips. This was the same spot he stood on last morning, holding the ring against the sun. Till last night, he believed this ring could withstand everything.

 _"After the final, let's end this."_

That numbing sensation of those words. He checked his watch. He was at odds with himself. It was almost time for his performance. Should he go to Yuuri? Should he not? Should he adamantly stay by him no matter what, or should he relent and let Yuuri do what he proposed to. It had been hard to make sense of it all since last night. Why didn't Yuuri reply? What was on his mind? Why did he face the other side? Was the tension breaking him? Was Victor pushing him too hard? What the hell happened and why couldn't Victor make sense out of it?

 _"There was a girl in Detroit.. When she tried to hug me, I pushed her away without thinking about it. I felt like she was intruding into my feelings."_

He needed space. As a coach, no matter how inexperienced, Victor needed to learn how and when to give it. It was best he stayed away if Yuuri wanted him to. What if this wasn't the right way, though? Last time he tried to do something coach-like, he drove Yuuri to tears.

 _"You don't have to do anything! Just have more faith than me that I can win!"_

Nothing made sense.

"Oii!"

He looked back. A relatively tiny figure was running towards him, his face scrunched into a fiercer-than-usual scowl and blond hair flapping about in the air. He paused right in front of Victor, panting for breath and barking mad nonetheless. "What the _hell_ are you doing here, dumbass?!"

"Yurio?" He did a double-take.

"If Yakov or Lilia gets to know I'm here, I'll be dead," Yurio grumbled in between his shallow breaths, "Katsudon's free skate has started and I'm looking all over for you. Can you not think just about yourself for once?!"

 _Dammit._ It had started already? Victor broke into a run on instinct. If he was fast enough, he might just make it to the rink before Yuuri finished the programme. Yurio followed suit, huffing and puffing, "Hey, wait up stupid!"

But.

"What happened now?!" Yurio yelled even as he rammed into Victor's back because of the abrupt halt. Upon watching Victor's unmoving figure, fists clenched, Yurio punched against it. "Have you two completely lost it?!" he was incredulous. Victor took a deep breath. He didn't know what to say.

Upon receiving no answer, Yurio tugged at Victor's sleeve, calmed from his outburst now. He frowned, "I don't know and don't want to know what happened between you two. But all I know is that the coach should be there with the skater in the kiss and cry. Save face, if nothing else."

Victor smiled at how Yurio had his own way of showing he cared. And with that realisation, it all hit him like a slap to the face.

He had been so engrossed in sightseeing through Barcelona, exchanging rings, living and loving that he failed to notice the obvious meaning behind Yuuri's shockingly ambiguous statement. _Let's end this... Let's end this... Let's end this student-coach equation?_ Was that what Yuuri meant? Oh, no. Did Yuuri want him to step down? Did he want Victor as a competitor instead?

There was no way Yuuri would turn away and leave him hanging mid-air if he had been talking about their relationship. And there was no way Victor would let a severing in their professional relationship affect the personal one. If nothing else, he had a solid gold ring to vouch for it.

Victor ran the fastest his legs could take. There wasn't much time left - and like Yurio said, the least he could do right then was to be there by his side before Yuuri left the rink.

 _"Please be my coach until I retire!"_

Victor felt tears rushing up to the surface. It did sound like a marriage proposal. "Ah, Katsuki Yuuri," he mumbled to himself, "if only I'll let you go _that_ easy."

* * *

Yuuri spun himself into the air for the quadruple flip as if his world depended on it. _For half of my life, I've been trying to catch up with you, Victor. It has been an unending chain of surprises._ One. Two. Three. Four flips. _Your being my coach wasn't a waste of time._ He stretched his arms up as his right feet reached for the landing. _For everything you have done for me, Victor -_

"Aaaaand he made it!" the commentator's elated, distant voice reverberated somewhere around the music, "Katsuki Yuuri is on road to flawlessly complete a programme with a difficulty as high as that of his coach Victor Nikiforov!"

Yuuri's heart throbbed so hard it could burst, even as he moved on to the last step sequence.

- _thank you. Spasibo. Arigatou._

Yuuri sensed the fatigue already getting to his head. It was going to end anytime. He felt his fingertips slacking even as he pushed them as hard as he could. Sweat itching into his eye as he spun. Victor always told him to dance like the most beautiful person to ever exist on ice. He wasn't going to let him down when the end was seconds away. Because a part of Victor resided in him. Because -

 _Because I love you. Because I have always loved you and never expected you to love me back. I wish I could've put it in words, but I know this will reach you._

The music slowed down. He closed his eyes while he took the last pose, frozen at his spot. He could hear the applause ring so hard it was almost vibrating through the ice floor. He didn't want to open his eyes and watch his finger pointed at an empty space, or worse even, at someone else. But he had to. He had to walk back to the kiss and cry. The performance was over.

He never looked up. Exhausted, he fell to his knees. Just when he thought he was too cold to move, he realised he was wrapped in an embrace. He wouldn't have bothered if it hadn't been the smell of a very familiar perfume.

"Vi-Victor?"

It was him. It was really him. Victor gazed at him, his face glazed with tears. For a split-second it did feel like a hallucination; he had never seen Victor cry before. But the warmth of the embrace was too good to just be inside his head. Yuuri began, "Victor, I -"

"No, Yuuri," he touched his face tenderly," all of that later. I'm sorry I took so long. I love you too, Yuuri, and damn me if I ever doubt you again."

They grinned at each other. All ends had new beginnings.

* * *

 **Hi guys. New (and obsessed with) in the fandom. I am testing waters here, will do longer chapters from the next as I lay the background to the story. In any case, please leave a review!**


	2. I

I

* * *

A record free skate score of 221.4 and yet missed the gold to Yurio by a tiny sliver of 0.12. On paper it sounded like the perfect recipe of dissing Victor both as a competitor and coach. If it hadn't been that moment in the rink last day he would've genuinely wondered whether Victor was mad at him. After all, he had made Victor begrudgingly announce his comeback to the media. Was it not almost like admitting defeat?

But Victor looked happy.

Right then, Victor had been keenly trying to pull a cursing Yurio to the banquet dance floor for a waltz. When Yurio managed to break off his grip and run for his life, Victor stumbled towards Yuuri with a glass of champagne, beaming.

" _Noooo,_ " Yuuri flinched at the sight of alcohol, "not again."

"Yuuuuri. It's not a party until you drink."

As if the pictures from last year's banquet weren't embarrassing enough. On top of that, Phichit was here. Yuuri hoped it was a testimony of their trust and friendship that he didn't take pictures of last year's pictures and let them off on the social media. In any case, before Yuuri could decline Victor had emptied the glass by himself.

"Are you drunk already?" Yuuri laughed.

Victor drawled happily, "I'm not drunk... _you're_ drunk."

"...Umm, Victor. I needed to talk about something."

Ever since Yuuri watched Yurio's free skate, this had been on his mind. Yurio had been so passionate, almost angry. In the same vein of what he told him before Yuuri's own performance - Yurio seemed to be iterating it again and again through a language they both understood best - _do not disappoint me._

On top of it, Victor threw him some more ambiguous hints. _"I don't feel like kissing the silver medal, Yuuri,"_ he had crooned, smiling smugly, _"Do you have something in your mind? Something that'd excite me?"_

He hadn't said anything back then, but he did have something on his mind. It was more like hunger. He wondered if this was the right time to tell Victor - Victor was pretty much on his way to get wasted - two more drinks away before starting to strip and hug him like there was no tomorrow.

"Victor, will you stay with me for another season? I promise I will win the gold this time!"

They said alcohol always brought out people's truest natures. Victor literally jumped on him even as Yuuri backed against the liquor counter, his eyes glistening again (well, alcohol brought out Victor's comedically melodramatic nature) as he whispered into his ear, "I'll stay with you forever."

Yuuri wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry. "I meant as a coach, Victor."

"Coach, not-coach, un-coach, partner, husband, all good. Marry me?"

He blushed, "Didn't you say that was after I got the gold?"

Victor seemed to going into shock with the realisation of how he dug his own grave with his words. "Ah," he sighed, now wasted if Yuuri might mention it, "this brazenly drunken boy from last year's banquet made me fall in love with him and had me pining for him for a year, now he uses my own words against me and asks me to keep pining."

Huh? Yuuri scratched the back of his head. He remembered he had caused some major embarrassment last year, but what was Victor even on about? He fell in love with him... _what_?

Victor was in no position to stop. He leaned against a bar stool, sighing deep breaths, so much so Yuuri had to make sure he didn't get any more access to alcohol. Then followed a sudden spasm of inexplicable sadness, and Yuuri had no choice but to take him out to the roof for some fresh air.

"I changed my free skate programme for the Four Continents ... and, and for the World Championship," Victor continued, even as Yuuri helped him by the shoulder, " _Stammi Vicino... non te me andare..._ It was for that boy. The boy who never looked back. The playboy who played the game of love with the most beautiful woman in the room and then cast her aside the next day." With it, he hopped ahead out in the roof, "The breeeeze!"

"Victor, don't go close to the ledge!" warned Yuuri, whilst his mind was at sixes and sevens. What was even going on...? Was Victor trying to confess he had been in love all along? That he got a silly schoolgirl crush on Yuuri? _Yuuri?_ That he choreographed routines dedicated to him before they became friends? In all seriousness, Yuuri needed a drink right then.

Victor leaned towards him, so close their noses touched. "Stay close to me," he breathed, entangling their fingers , "We'll leave together. Stay close to me, Yuuri, won't you?"

His heart throbbing against his chest, Yuuri kissed him under the moonlight, tasted the flavour of the champagne on his lips. Victor kissed back, and never wanted to let go. "Always," Yuuri mumbled, his breath barely catching up before he dug his fingers into Victor's silver hair and went for another kiss, " _Always._ "

* * *

Victor watched from a distance, laughing, as Yakov and Lilia made offended (and secretly proud) faces at Yurio's full-fledged metal mode gala performance. Just when one'd think the punk had a softer side to him, he'd make sure he had all the edge to welcome them to the madness.

"I'm off," Yuuri pecked him on the cheek, "Wish me luck."

"I'll follow you," he winked back. Yuuri high-fived him and set off towards the rink.

While Victor was pleasantly surprised at Yuuri choosing the song, he was kind of curious about what triggered Yuuri to do _Stammi Vicino_ again. On top of it, the smug smile from Yuuri that he received upon putting forth the question, added a level of mystery to it.

"You don't remember?" Yuuri had asked during the rehearsals.

"Remember what?" he had scratched his chin, confused. Was Yuuri talking about last night - because he kind of - just kind of had no memory of anything after the fourth drink till the morning when he woke up beside his boyfriend, half-naked.

"We promised something."

"Yuuri, are you gonna explain or...?"

Instead of answering, Yuuri played the song. It wasn't the same version that Victor used to perform. "I guess we'll have to make some changes," Yuuri had said, "Victor, will you do a duet for the gala? We'll leave together."

That was all Yuuri said that day. They managed to pull off a good pair routine given both of them were fairly inexperienced at it; first Victor created the original, then Yuuri responded to it through that viral video - this duet seemed to bookend the story. All was well.

Mid-song, Victor skated into the rink as if he were drawn to the figure in the middle of the ice like a moth to a flame. The crowd rang with an applause, the commentator thundered, "The Russian legend is on ice again!"

He wouldn't lie; returning to the ice under the spotlight felt good. And what could be better than Yuuri accompanying him. He held his hand tight as they shifted into a pose _. Le tue mani, le tue gambe, le mie mani, me mie gambe..._

Yuuri had suggested they bottle the routine off with a lift that symbolised his journey this season. It was rather difficult, and even invited flirty-teasing about Victor getting old (counting in the innumerable times Yuuri bopped at the middle of his head). It involved a carry lift with Victor holding a spread-eagled Yuuri over his head. Grinning, Victor had taken in the challenge. It excited him how confident his man had become.

 _\- No, Yuuri, wait, it's too soon -_

Before he could blink, Yuuri was skidding towards him for the leap of faith. It was mistimed - was Victor not going with the tempo? What was happening? In any case, he had to brace up now. If he froze, it would lead to a mighty collision.

\- _Yuuri, no -_

He managed to pull him up somehow. It wasn't a very well executed lift - but they managed it -

"Yuuri!"

It was the sweat. Victor's fingers couldn't keep a grip upon the slippery costume as Yuuri tumbled over his shoulder and slammed headfirst into the floor. Victor fell to his knees. This _couldn't_ have been happening. His head spun and his world toppled over its axis. Yuuri ought to get up and tell him he was okay. Maybe scold him for his mistake. Why wasn't Yuuri _moving_?

"Yuuri," he could hardly hear his own voice, "Yuuri, speak to me." With trembling hands, he reached out and pulled his unmoving body from the ice into his arms. Yuuri's face was so peaceful it was scary. "Speak to me, dammit!" Victor yelled in desperation, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes.

It seemed as if hours had passed with Victor holding him, the only consolation being Yuuri's slowly but steadily beating heart. The medical emergency team arrived - the the crowd was still buzzing - Victor sensed people around him - somebody was tugging at his shoulder asking him to let Yuuri go - was it Yurio, no Yakov - he didn't care. He couldn't care.

The ambulance ride felt like hell. His fists clenched, his eyes itching, throat constricted, gaze unfocused. All he wanted to know was one thing and no one would tell him about it.

"How's he doing?"

Victor wanted to ask the first thing as they ran up to the doctor, but when no voice came out, it was Phichit who prodded. The doctor looked up, his expression unreadable.

"He seems to have suffered a grade C concussion. We've sent him for an MRI scan, the reports should be in shortly," he answered calmly. Upon seeing the devastated faces, he assured, "Don't worry. He'll be alright."

Victor felt his knees buckle even as he reached out for a bench for support. His insides still churned in fear. Slowly, he sank onto the bench, his chin on his knuckles, staring at lining of the hospital tiles. The ominous smell of the sanitisers made him nauseous.

He turned his head when he sensed something on his shoulder. "It's a shock blanket," clarified Yurio, softer than usual, "the doctor asked me to give it to you." Victor nodded in compliance. Suddenly he felt like a child lost in a crowd.

"Get over yourself," the fifteen-year old boy snapped at him, "Don't fall apart. Katsudon's gonna be pretty pissed if he sees you this way."

"I - I have to call his parents - I - " the first words that came from Victor since he reached here didn't happen to make a lot of sense, " I have to - "

"Don't worry," said Yurio, "I called Yuuko. Of course, they all saw it on TV." Seemingly running out of ways to console, he offered Victor his untouched coffee, "Here, have this. That Katsudon better wakes up soon or I'm gonna kick his ass."

This couldn't have been happening. He had been having the time of his life. The one person he cared about the most lay upon that hospital bed, not waking up. If it were possible, he'd have gladly exchanged places. No, that wasn't the point. _He_ was the reason Yuuri lay on that bed. His world was crashing around his ears, and all he could do was sit back and watch it burn, all thanks to one mistake.

 _His_ mistake.

* * *

 **An angsty jaegerbomb for the new year! :D Please review!**


	3. II

II

* * *

First it felt like flying... and then like falling.

It was somewhat of an odd sensation - somewhat of a limbo - the notions of time and space were distorted at this place. It was almost as if he were watching a film reel of his life passing by.

Something had happened. What was it? Where was he? The last thing he remembered was falling straight into the ice floor, blacking out before his palms could cushion the fall. According to that memory, he should be knocked out cold. What was this warm, homely sensation then? It felt like an afternoon at Hasetsu, sleeping beside Victor and Maccachin. Only that it wasn't.

Why was he conscious, and yet not so? Was he dead? He didn't like the idea. You couldn't die from a minor fall like that, could you? While he didn't quite trust this fleeting film reel-like memory right then, he couldn't remember something like that ever occurring in figure-skating history. That would be a stupid way to go, nonetheless.

The only thing keeping him sane in this limbo was a number of faint voices that came from the end of this tunnel. They were a mumble and mixture of many people - as far as he could figure they were telling him to wake up. The clearest of the lot sounded like Victor, and it kept repeating the same thing over and over and over again : " _I'm sorry, Yuuri._ "

The voices were the only thing that didn't let him lose his grip with reality, and that told him he was pretty much alive and breathing... and that Victor was apologizing for something. Was it the lift? Why, though? It wasn't his mistake. Victor hardly ever made mistakes.

All of a sudden it was the two of them - sitting at the empty beach, watching Maccachin happily woofing about at the sea shore, messy paw marks everywhere.

"Seagulls again," Victor had sighed.

"Do you miss home that much?"

Victor smirked back mysteriously, "I'm just surprised how much this place reminds of home."

"Oh."

"Anyway, don't we have our own definitions of what we call home?"

He had paused to wonder. Then changed the subject, "Yurio brought me his grandpa's katsudon pirozhkis."

"Wow," Victor had exclaimed in a way only he could, "I like that kid."

If there was one thing Yuuri was good at, it was the pace at which he could keep changing subjects, "I'm sorry I messed up the free skate. I barely made through. I - I'll do my best to get the gold, I promise!"

"Yuuri," Victor began, his arm tightening around Yuuri's shoulder, "You said that you wanted Victor to stay Victor for you. I was wondering... am I still just Victor to you?"

Yuuri didn't get it back then. He probably did now.

 _Victor._

As much as he loved his parents, he'd lie if he said they never disappointed him. And as much as they loved him, they were happy he could be home instead of the World Championships, they couldn't attend his graduation after that embarrassing Grand Prix defeat. Even Mari Nee-chan, as much as she supported him, didn't quite have an idea about the connection he shared with the ice. The closest that anyone could come were Minako-sensei and Yuu-chan; he'd admit he had harboured a slight _senpai-_ crush on both at some point.

Then came Victor. He barged in and made himself comfortable before Yuuri could even get the hang of anything. It took some time, but Yuuri understood after a while that Victor depended on him as much as Yuuri did. There was a reason Hasetsu reminded of St. Petersburg; they had made each other home.

If there was anyone he had to - just _had_ to return for, it'd be Victor.

"Sir, his eyelids are flickering... he's coming around..."

Who was that? He had never heard that voice before. Hasetsu - St. Petersburg - Victor - the beach - everything dissolved into the damned limbo again. The afternoon sunlight was gone. He was falling again...

"Yuuri? Yuuri, can you hear me?"

"Yuuri, snap out of it, wake up. Yuuri?"

" _Victor..._ "

Yuuri blinked wide even as the first thing he figured was a blinding flashlight frightening the wits out of him, and then two unfamiliar people who, going by their clothes, were probably a doctor and his assistant. The bigger calm-looking man flashed the torch into his other eye, and began an inquiry. "What is your name, senor?"

"Uh? _Boku no namae wa Ka-Katsuki Yuuri desu._ " His Japanese popped out before the Spanish doctor before he could think. He hoped the doctor got the keywords he was looking for.

"You know what year this is?"

Okay, this one was a little scary. "Um, 2016," he uttered, nervous red specks etched on his cheeks.

To his relief, the man smiled. "Well done, Yuuri. You seem alright. I'll call your family in."

He tried to sit up. His head weighed a ton. In another minute, people walked into the room; they were asked to enter two at a time, but most had no chill and sneaked in. By the time his eyes adjusted to the lights, it looked like a bustling family portrait - his mother, father, Mari Nee-chan, Minako-sensei, Yuu-chan, Nishigori, the triplets, even Maccachin.

"Where is Victor?"

* * *

All of them uncomfortably looked around, one ushering the other to speak. Yuuri wondered if this was the right time to test his patience. Finally, Minako-sensei surrendered to the silence and said, "He's at the hotel. We forced him to get some rest. Someone's gone to inform him that you've woken up..."

He shifted in discomfort. "How long... how long was I knocked out?"

"You had a bad concussion. You went to coma for around 48 hours. We were worried you might have suffered some kind of memory loss, but the doctor said you're doing okay. We were so worried, Yuuri!"

God, that must've sucked for others. Apart from being slightly dizzy, he seemed to be having no problems... when it all happened to hit him like a freight train; the gala - that performance - everything was ruined. Victor's comeback performance ended up with perhaps a medical team gliding into the rink, all owing to that one accident. His forehead clammed up with sweat again; the media must've been eating Victor alive, on top of it the man must've been worried sick. This anxiety was a bitch.

His trance was broken by a resounding clunk of the food tray in front of him. "Eat," ordered Mari Nee-chan, even as he made a face, "All of it." Fish, rice, baguette and dessert. Nothing looked good. However, his stomach growled against his brains.

With the arrival of food, the tense scene changed to usual banter; his mother was listing out precautions, his father wondered whether it was time to retire the way he initially planned, Minako-sensei egged him on about how one accident that didn't even disable him in any manner should not affect his career decision, the triplets were talking among themselves... Soon his eyelids began to droop with drowsiness and he started to block off the noise. Instead, he focused on the white-framed door that awaited a familiar knock.

Victor came in about fifteen minutes later. By then the nurse had already thrown everyone else out for creating too much ruckus while Yuuri was still trying to bite his way through that baguette.

"Yuuri."

His insides churned in guilt as he glanced up at Victor. Victor's silver hair was dishevelled, his eyes deep-set and exhausted, he looked as if he hadn't slept in ages. Yuuri blurted out without thinking. "Victor, how've you been?"

Against all expectations, Victor smiled. "I'm the one supposed to ask that."

"I'm fine. The food tastes like crap though."

Another lopsided smile. "I'll ask Yurio to sneak in a pirozhki."

So Victor was hell bent upon not talking about the notoriously dodgy subject of the ruined routine. He had an expertise in keeping his emotions in check; Yuuri knew how difficult Victor was to read. Since Victor hadn't begun the topic, Yuuri decided to not pull them both into the muck. All he could do was cross his fingers and hope Victor didn't blame himself.

"So, what are you gonna do now, Yuuri, after you're out of this place?" Victor asked out of the blue.

"I think I'll spend some time back at Hasetsu."

"Perfect, I'll go along." Victor brightened into a cheery self that was hard to take for a facade if Yuuri hadn't known better. He could see it. That brightness never reached Victor's eyes. They seemed lifeless, unfocused, _sad._

 _You can't lie to me, Victor. But if not talking about it makes you feel better, then be it._

"Hey," Yuuri chuckled, shuffling Victor's hair, "Your birthday's almost there."

* * *

"Happy homecoming, Yuuri!"

Yuuri hoped the decorations were this exaggerated only because the day he and Victor landed at Japan coincided with Christmas. The family had arrived first for the preparations ("Preparations? What preparations?" Yuuri had asked at Minako-sensei and Mari Nee-chan's grinning faces.) and Yuuri had discretely instructed the triplets to keep the media away anyhow, _especially_ from Victor.

Right then, Yuuri was staring at the long happy line of the Yu-topia staff; next in line was Kenjioro Minami doing an Ina Bauer at a huge banner that said ' _CONGRATULATIONS! GRAND PRIX SILVER MEDALIST KATSUKI YUURI!_ ' gleaming against the sunlight. If he wasn't mistaken, someone had also made a last ditch effort to draw his and Victor's faces at the corner.

His face had bypassed maroon. "W-was this really required?" In response, Victor patted him on the shoulder, laughing.

Escaping the celebrations were hard, but nonetheless they made it. Yuuri took a deep breath as he ran up to his quiet room, stuffed his suitcase at the corner, and fell on his stomach on the bed. Upon hearing Victor's footsteps, he turned. "Why are they celebrating me? It's your day."

Victor flicked the hair out of his face. "It doesn't matter."

"It does!" It came out more emotionally than it was supposed to. He wanted to go on a more teasing note, "I'll celebrate you."

Victor might have received an inkling. More lopsided smiles. "Really? What d'you have in mind?"

Yuuri jumped out of the bed and slammed the door shut. Bit his lip, and pointed a line from the shoulder bone down to the buckle of his belt. "I think you know."

"Oh dear God," Victor lunged in, snaking his arm around Yuuri's waist, "Who are you and what have you done to Katsuki Yuuri?"

Before they could so much as remove a sock, a pounding on the door brought them back to the insipid reality that was his room. Yuuri's face heated up as it dawned on him how brazenly he was going with the flow, and he bounced back to his reclusive shell like a Mexican jumping bean, internally screaming. Paranoid, he made sure there were no unwarranted pictures of Victor peeking out of his drawer. _Oh no, I officially became a groupie today._ He dug his face into his knees.

As Victor opened the door, Maccachin woofed into the space, sniffing at his feet. The moment was pretty much lost now.

It was Mari Nee-chan at door, looking bored. "Victor-kun, Yuuri, mum and dad asked me to call you to the living room. They wanted to make a public announcement of your engagement."

Yuuri didn't think it was physically possible to be more embarrassed. "Huh? Who told them?"

"It's everywhere, Yuuri. Not that they follow the social media. I told them."

"Huh?"

Behind her curly-haired bun, Victor was in a laughing fit.

* * *

It appeared all was well and good until Yuuri decided to go the rink again.

It followed the usual timetable; he was up at 5:30 in the morning, jogged to Ice Castle Hasetsu in another hour, warmed up for another half and had been tying the laces of his skating shoes, when he watched Victor strut in and lean against the wall, white-faced.

He ran up to Victor in childish excitement as soon as he saw him open the door. He had been thinking quite a lot about the coming Four Continents season; had Celestino still been his coach, he wouldn't have bothered opening up with his high-flying ideas to those furry eyebrows.

"Victor, I know there's not a lot of time before the Four Continents, but I was - I was thinking I can choreograph a short program myself - I mean, I think I can try - and if it isn't possible this season, maybe for the next Grand Prix season - "

Halfway through he realised Victor was spaced out, not listening to a word.

He prodded again. "Victor?"

"Uh?" Victor looked up at him, "Yes, yes. Continue."

"Are you okay?"

He nodded, his white knuckles against his mouth. He seemed to be out of breath. Yuuri reached out and held him by the shoulder, "Victor?"

Without any hesitation, Victor flung aside Yuuri's supporting arm and stormed outside. "I need some fresh air," came an urgent, muffled cry before the door was slammed shut again. Yuuri ran after him; by then Victor had reached the last stair, crouched over the railing, taking long, shallow breaths. His eyes wide, terrified.

Yuuri should've seen the signs.

* * *

 **Happy new year everyone! Have I wished already? Thank you for all the love! ^_^**

 **Keep reviewing!**


	4. III

III

* * *

He never got Victor to talk about it since the little weird anxiety attack thing didn't happen again.

Instead, he got two Victors.

During training, it was Victor the coach, cold, detached, criticising to the point of being ruthless. Victor didn't step on ice himself, stood at the corner either with his arms folded or fists clenched. From a technical point of view, he was open to Yuuri's ideas; emotionally, he was shut tight, an unreadable smile on his face. It scared Yuuri to an extent he never mentioned about choreographing a new short program to Victor again.

At other times, it was Victor the boyfriend, inseparable and low-key bossy, requiring taking care of every detail in Yuuri's life, freaking out at a minor ankle sprain. It seemed Victor's whole world revolved around him, and after four long weeks, it began grating on Yuuri's nerves.

That was until last night, when he found a vulnerable Victor.

It was a chilly night and Yuuri had snapped awake owing to a dangerously full bladder. On the way back from the loo, he heard what sounded like Maccachin's low purrs from Victor's room (an engagement made public or not, Yuuri was too embarrassed to sleep with Victor down at Hasetsu when his parents had graciously allotted their precious Vic-chan the comfy guest room). He slid the door open and watched Victor crumbled inside the blanket, his face pressed against the pillow, mumbling incoherently yet loud enough to have woken the dog.

"Victor?"

Victor was in deep sleep, but that didn't help with the mumbling. Maccachin was licking at its paw; Victor had perhaps hugged his pet so tightly it hurt the poor animal. Yuuri reached out to comfort his silver-haired man. "It's okay," he whispered, "It's okay."

"Stop it... stop it..." Victor continued to mumble, eyes squeezed shut, dried up tears at the corners, "Someone stop it... I'm sorry..."

Yuuri nudged him. It was better trying to wake him up than watch him suffer through this ordeal. Victor barely blinked, conscious enough to figure Yuuri's presence under the dim light but too sleepy to be embarrassed about being discovered at his most broken. Childishly, he buried his head into Yuuri's shirt and gave in to the drowsiness.

Throughout the night, Yuuri lay by his side, watching the moonlight bounce off his silver hair and his chest heave up and down with every peaceful breath, his ice cold fingertips encased under Yuuri's palm. Let alone the recent onslaught of annoyance, Yuuri would bite down the pain even if Victor had bound him with iron shackles. Only if that resolved this problem.

* * *

" _Moshi moshi._ Yurio! How've you been?"

As expected, then came an immediate smackdown. "Oi, Katsudon! What's with this madness?!" Yurio sounded angry, as usual.

"Huh?"

"Why isn't Victor picking up his calls?! Yakov is eating my head here!"

"I - I don't know about this."

"He's cancelled performances, ad deals and conferences and what not. Stupid media's irritating everyone. Whatever recluse thing he's playing at, you tell that geezer to snap out of it!"

"Oh, okay - "

"We thought something - something happened to you again," he murmured, before adding hurriedly, "It's cold as hell in Russia! No news! _Scary_!"

"I'm fine, Yurio."

"Oi, I didn't ask! About that Victor, whatever he's doing. Tell him Yakov is asking to bring his lazy ass back to Russia if he's seriously considering his comeback."

"Alright."

Yuuri flipped the phone aside, and made his way to Victor's room, a certain bulbous anger rumbling inside his stomach. The room was empty; Victor had said he wanted to go to the Ramen shop and chat up with some friends he had made last time. The sheet over the mattress was crinkled; a bag that looked like a mini-briefcase lay at a corner beside his laptop, things flopping out of it.

Yuuri hesitated for a split-second, wondering if it was right to butcher Victor's privacy, but prioritized his moral call of duty. Yurio was right; unanswered letters, media mails in the spambox, over fifty missed video calls. Yuuri gritted his teeth. This was _exactly_ what Yuuri asked Victor not to do when he agreed upon him not stepping down as his coach.

"We need to talk, Victor."

He was sure as hell Victor didn't like this stupidly ambiguous statement. Victor returned around midnight, a slight wintery blush on his face and perhaps a mood happier than what Yuuri had seen in the past few days. "Okay," the Russian man settled over on the mat, "Let's."

"You are planning to come back this season, right?"

Silence. Victor tripped over his words. "I'm - I'm at loss of inspiration."

"You're lying." Yuuri tried to be stern. Victor never stuttered.

At this point, Victor stopped making eye contact. He whispered darkly. "How would you know?"

"Because I do!" Yuuri felt desperate. Victor wasn't opening up to him, and this conversation was going nowhere. "Victor," he put a hand on his shoulder, "What's going on? Tell me. Are you still thinking about that accident?"

Yuuri sensed Victor flinch under his hand. "I hurt you," came a stoic reply.

"It was an accident, Victor."

"It was a mistake."

"No, it wasn't!"

"You weren't waking up."

"Victor - "

"My mistake."

For the lack of a better response, Yuuri wrapped him into a warm embrace. His heart broke into two as Victor didn't hug back, just sat there, detached, almost as cold and lifeless as a marble statue. Fair enough, thought Yuuri, which reminded him of what he had initially planned to discuss. Yuuri almost felt like mocking himself; he had begun the whole talk with such certainty, as if he himself was quite a talker.

 _I saw everything, Victor. How could you hide it all from me? Why hadn't you talked to me before about the accident? Will you stop killing your career this way? You made a promise that you won't. The only reason I'm still skating is because you said you won't. I don't know how to deal with this, Victor. You have done too much for me already. You don't need to carry this guilt. Yakov has called you back to Russia. I think you should go. We need to grow apart, Victor, or the way it's going, sooner or later I'll bring you down._

Of the world that he could've said, Yuuri handpicked the worst.

"Yakov has called you back to Russia. I think you should go. We need to grow apart, Victor."

The silver-haired man smiled, then pecked him on the cheek. "I see. Good night, Yuuri."

* * *

By morning, Victor was gone. All he left was a text in Yuuri's phone.

 ** _Dasvidaniya, love._**

Yuuri felt hot tears rush up to the surface, and he made no attempt to stop them. This was the second time Victor had left him after a talk, this time owing more to Yuuri's own fault than a miscommunication. He noticed Maccachin sleeping at the feet of his bed; Victor had left the poodle to Yuuri's care, or perhaps the other way around.

He glanced out of the window at the slow falling snow. The morning was shivery cold, and after a long while, Hasetsu began to reek of emptiness again. He stared down at the animal wagging its tongue, its big loyal brown eyes expectant. "What have I done, Maccachin?"

"Why don't you talk to Victor-kun?"

Yuu-chan asked him absent-mindedly when he wandered into Ice Castle a few days later, at loss about what to do yet tired of the mourning.

"I think it's better this way," said Yuuri, never minding the sinking sensation inside him, "Away from me, he can be Victor Nikiforov again. The Victor whom everyone looks up to."

Since he had no news of Victor, he had forced himself to assume Victor must be doing well, must've had rejoined training at Russia, and must be preparing to buckle up for the Nationals. At this, Yuu-chan didn't seem particularly convinced. "You sure? You both looked so happy together."

Yuuri's insides flipped in anticipation. Together, huh? Yes, together. Again. Someday.

Pushing his thoughts at the back of his head, he pulled out a CD from his bag and handed it to her. "Please play this for me."

She glazed over the title. "Chopin Ballade Op 23 G Minor... Yuuri-kun, have you prepared a new routine?"

More like a message. The way skaters could communicate best. After all, Yuuri had a bad repute with words. He put his glasses down at the side of the rink and gave a heads-up at the triplets, who kept a video-camera steady as the music began.

He never gave a lot of thought to the music before. Following choreographies created for him, it struck him how much he used to depend upon muscle-memory, how the work he had to do was less about creation and more about interpretation. He had always wanted to create too. He was no genius like Victor, but he had to take his first step _somewhere_.

But midway he lost it. He forgot the meticulous step-sequence he had planned; instead his arms flailed about with the crescendo, his skates slid according to their own will. A combination spin that didn't seem to go with the piano became the sound of his soul writhing apart. The sound of separation.

 _We exist because we skate. We skate because we exist._ _I may not understand the music or the tempo, but I understand this ominous thumping inside my chest. It's called love, and it begins and ends with you._

Victor, that dummy.

The music had stopped and he was left on his knees in the middle of the ice, thinking, panicking, and panting for breath. That was, till he was distracted by Yuu-chan banging her palms upon the walls as loudly as she possibly could, her eyes widened with amazement. " _Sugoiiii_ Yuuri-kun!" she exclaimed, like how she had when Yuuri first showed her his perfect copy of _Stammi Vicino_ , "Are you going to post this online?!"

He scratched the back of his head, flushed and unnerved, not sure what to say. "It- It's supposed to be personal."

It was supposed to be just for Victor. Yuuri wanted to communicate, wanted him to know what he was going through, not to mention his coach's opinion on his first choreography would be like icing on the cake. However, he loitered around for several days, watching, rewinding, and eventually hating the video before he gathered enough courage to mail it to Victor.

He fell back into the pillow, scratching Maccachin who had snuggled up beside him, his gaze fixed at a lone poster of Victor Nikiforov on the wardrobe (pulled out of his never-to-be-touched-again fanboy stash), his thumb hovering over the _send_ button, his insides flip-flopping anxiously. It had been already a week and four days. He didn't wish to disturb Victor during training. Worse even, he didn't want him to see the video in public. All of sudden, he saved the mail in drafts and decided to text Yurio instead.

He wasn't sure how to write it. In any case, he typed: ' ** _Hi, Yurio. I hope your training's going well. I just wanted to know how Victor is doing, it'll be good if you don't tell him about this text, not sure if he wants to talk to me atm :)'_**

Yuuri wasn't a hundred percent sure but what followed was a voice message from Yurio that more or less sounded like a string of Russian expletives. Before Yuuri could make any sense of it, his cellphone beeped again.

 **' _Victor is not in Russia._ '**

* * *

Okay guys, thank you for the continued support. Keep reviewing, it makes my day! :))))


	5. IV

IV

* * *

In all honesty, Victor Nikiforov's comeback was the only reason why Christophe Giacometti had furthered another season before retiring permanently. He walked across the space and pulled out a magazine, laying on the couch. It was a day off from practice, and half an hour ago he received a sudden text from Victor asking him if he was at home, and flipping the magazine seemed a decent way to kill time till the man arrived at the door.

It wasn't even five minutes when the doorbell rang. If that was Victor, then damn, it was fast. Victor must've been right outside his building when he sent the text.

It, indeed, was Victor. He looked a good six-months older than Chris last saw him (he saw him last month), and perhaps a little exhausted. Chris wouldn't be surprised though; after that ill-fated accident, Victor must've been through hell. He hadn't heard anything about it since, so he believed things were going well. In fact right then, he looked over Victor's shoulder to see if they were expecting his Japanese skater fiancé to walk up the stairs.

"It's just me, Chris," Victor anticipated. It was weird; not even his pet dog, who was virtually inseparable from him till Yuuri came about?

"Come in, Victor, how've you been?" Chris ushered him in, putting his thoughts aside.

"Just been travelling," he said, settling on the couch. It never took Victor a lot of time to dive into his comfort zone; within another minutes he had been showing Chris pictures about the places he had visited in his short trip. Some hotpot place in Beijing, somewhere in Moscow, some landmarks from Barcelona.

"You mean, all the places from the last Grand Prix season?" Chris asked, scratching his head, "Do you think you've dropped off your wallet or something?" He added in jest.

"I actually have been looking for a brown bag of nuts," Victor cracked an inexplicable joke.

Before Chris could've replied, Victor's phone pinged. As fickle as he was, he immediately checked. From where Chris stood, it looked like a mail from _something-katsudon-some number_ \- most probably Yuuri?

' ** _To my coach._** ' It read. Below the text was an attached video. From the thumbnail it seemed like a casual practice skate. Victor opened it. He seemed to have retreated into his own bubble; unsure if Chris should take offence at that, he joined Victor in watching the video instead.

Classical piano, eh? Chris never had an inherent interest towards the classical numbers. From the corner of his eye, he glanced at Victor; the man's icy blue eyes were fixed at the screen, a finger on his lip, fascinated. Of course, no doubt there. Yuuri had an immensely sexy flair when it came to footwork. It was naive and subtle, and it oozed right when one didn't expect it.

"Chopin," Victor mumbled to himself. Not sure what to interpret, all Chris could understand was how lonely the piece felt. Not in a bad way, more like - if he could put it words correctly - how lonely Yuuri felt... there was madness, desperation in his movements... And they were flawless - wait a minute, a quad axel? And he landed it too. Chris gasped.

"Yuuri's always been better on rink without competition pressure," Victor responded, low-key proud.

It started out slow, but it was mesmerising. Not that he ever underestimated Yuuri (after the Sochi banquet and his free skate record, he knew full well what Yuuri could do), but _this,_ this was something else altogether. Chris always had a dislike towards sentimental performances, but this _tugged_ somewhere. The ice was his canvas and Yuuri kept lathering it with colours, bravely and carelessly.

"Holy _shit_ ," Chris blew out an expletive without even realising it.

Victor was already onto typing a reply. ' ** _Perfect_** , **_Yuuri! ^_^ But it's overtly sentimental. I think next time you should be thinking a little about keeping your emotions in check when you create a new choreography._ '**

A new message arrived within seconds of Victor replying. **' _Where exactly are you, Victor?_ '**

"Huh? He doesn't know you're here?" asked Chris confusedly.

Victor shoved his phone back into his pocket, and forced a smile instead. "We had a little domestic falling out. Enough of me, Chris, how've you been training? You look good."

"Well, I feel intimidated now, after that video," Chris laughed, "the real question is how _you'_ ve been training. Everyone's excited for the Russian Nationals. You'll be back, finally."

The video still reeling in his head, Chris wondered something he never thought he ever would - how would Victor measure up to his own student this season? Even in the same routine, they weren't exactly alike. Yuuri had the stamina, Victor had the speed. Yuuri had his innocence, Victor his flamboyance. They were both raging forces. Things had changed; that Russian kid Yuri and that pompous guy from Canada were in the running too.

Victor hesitated. "Ah... I don't think there's enough time for me to prepare a proper comeback before the Nationals."

Chris's brow twitched. "You're kidding, right? You're Victor _fucking_ Nikiforov. I bet you get extra points at the Nationals for that name itself."

He chuckled at that. "What is that even supposed to mean?"

"The entire world is waiting for you, Victor. You don't realise how many of us still look up to you. Are you gonna disappoint us all?"

Maybe for the lack of a better response, Victor stared out of the window, sunlight bouncing off his silvery hair, his eyebrows relaxed, his expression bordering on stoic. Chris felt a twinge of annoyance; was he not taking his competitors seriously anymore? Had he become too full of himself? Had the retirement life suiting him so good that he didn't mind that both his records were broken this Grand Prix? Or was he just playing casual so he could surprise everyone with an incredible routine?

 _Damn,_ he had forgotten that Victor Nikiforov was too hard to read.

* * *

He owed Yuuri an apology. Instead he had run away.

St. Petersburg was cold. Not the icy-breeze-flowing-through-the-hair cold, but like a knife driving into your back, chilling to the bone. He raked his way through the foot-deep snow, dragging on a small suitcase. He left most of his things back at Hasetsu.

Victor sighed, his phone clenched inside his fist. He hadn't told Yuuri where he was. Why hadn't he? What was the point, driving unwarranted attention to himself?

 _What do you do, when you've been so unloved, so lonely all your life that you cannot deal with the sudden overwhelming amount of love around you? What do you do when you keep hurting that one person you're trying to protect? Why was it so easy in the beginning?_

No doubt Yuuri wanted to grow apart. He had given him hell in the past few weeks. Somewhere around the corner, he had wished that if he were a ruthless coach, it'd keep Yuuri from taking risks. He couldn't afford to see that Yuuri again - the Yuuri he watched through the glass barrier of the hospital - the cold, pale, almost lifeless Yuuri.

They had told him it was only a concussion. He had been sitting on the hospital bench for the last six hours, waiting. His own head had spun slightly; his fingers twitched at the memory of holding an unconscious Yuuri, the sound of that wretched song still ringing in his ears. He could hear the noise of reporters buzzing from afar, the cup of coffee going cold by the minute.

"Oi, Victor," Yurio had called out. He looked up; Yurio had changed from his red-black dramatic skating costume into a hoodie and trousers. Yurio came up to him, "Just go change from the costume and get something to eat. Someone'll inform you if there are... developments."

"I'm good."

"Huh?" he had snapped, "Do you wanna fall sick or something? Is what's going on not enough?"

Victor could've told he was scared. It was 2:30 a.m in the morning, no one had been able to budge unless they had _some_ information about Yuuri's condition. Yurio had been the only person trying to make conversation with Victor, albeit grumpily. Victor knew it was because most right then didn't know how to approach him, but he couldn't care less at the moment.

"Vitya," it was his old coach this time, "This is gonna be a long night. Get some rest."

He didn't need this right then. The consolation, the assurance - it had made him sick to the stomach. He had wanted someone to tell him off, scold him, blame him. So he could at least say he was _sorry._ He was about to shove them off and look for another place to sit, when he saw the doctor walk up to them. Some more people crowded in. Yuuri's sister Mari and his teacher Minako, and his friend Phichit.

"I'm really sorry to say but the patient seems to have slipped into a coma."

Yuuri's sister broke into tears. Victor felt his knees giving up. He still had his ears sharp; there was this one question everyone was afraid to ask.

"What does it mean?" It was Yurio.

"This was a little unexpected," the doctor had told them, "He doesn't seem to have any fracture or haemorrhage. There is a slight swelling, but it should be okay. As long as there isn't any severe neurological degradation, there should be nothing to be too afraid of. But since the patient is in a coma, I can't say anything with absolute certainty. Please bear with me, senor."

His words had been so clear Victor sensed as if they were getting tattooed on his skin. Victor had suddenly felt betrayed; _they said it was only a concussion_. And now Yuuri's life hung on an uncertainty, and no matter how many times Victor mentally went back and altered the events, everything continued to unravel like a castle of cards. His heart had thudded with an ominous _what if, what if, what if... Yuuri never..._

"Taxi!'"

On a cold St. Petersburg night like this, too less taxis ventured out on the road. Victor brushed the snowflakes off his shoulders, and went ahead to hail a cab. Luckily it didn't take a lot of time, and finally he got to breathe in the warm leathery air.

"Where to, sir?" asked the driver.

To his old apartment. He looked out of the window at the bleak scenery for the last time before raising the pane.

That ominous thudding in his heart that night, that feeling ... it was the worst in the world. He'd give up all his medals, his apartment, his money, he'd die a hundred deaths, he'd sell his soul to Satan, hell, he'd never see Yuuri again... anything but _that_ dreaded feeling.

The taxi halted and he ploughed out into the snow again, watching the yellow streetlights and the jazzy music slipping into the air from the lines of cafes and bookstores that led to the apartment complex. He had always liked to live here. His apartment must've been buried under an age of dust, plus, he shipped out a lot of stuff to Hasetsu back when he began coaching; his _everything_ was still there.

Just as he reached the gate to the main building - _tap._ Something hit his back. It was a snowball. He turned.

His eyes went wide. It had to be a hallucination. He had been thinking about it the whole day - the whole one week and five days. It had to be.

"Yuuri?"

Yuuri stood at a yard's distance, snow collected on the shoulders of his overcoat and nestled on his head, huffing out fog with each deep inhale. Maccachin was jumping around, galloping forth, wagging his tail, perhaps elated at seeing his other owner at last. But before even the poodle could, the man had tackled Victor down in the snow.

For a second, Victor forgot to breathe. Was it a hit? Was it a hug? He hoped it was a hug.

"Yuuri!" he gasped again. The rest of his vocabulary had been unregistered from his head.

"I was so worried!" Yuuri cried, his weight upon Victor, his fist slamming into the snow. Maybe it _was_ a hit. Yuuri's eyes were glistening against the yellow lamp light. Maccachin sniffed around them.

"I'm sorry I - "

"I'm so mad at you right now," a single teardrop trickled down the bridge of his nose, fogged up his glasses and fell on Victor's face, "I don't know what to say but I'm so mad. When I said we need to grow apart, I didn't mean we need to _stay_ apart!"

"I'm glad we cleared that up," Victor pecked him on the lips, at which he calmed down - somewhat. Yuuri began ranting about how he received a message from Yurio telling him Victor wasn't in Russia, how he flew to St. Petersburg at once and had stayed at Yurio and his grandfather's since last night, how he knew that the video was the only thing that could elicit a response from Victor, how he had been observing the snowy path sitting in that cutesy roadside café, and how lucky he was that he finally found Victor.

"... And also it's freezing here," he added through the clatter of his teeth.

Victor clasped his cold, ungloved hand. "Come in, babe."

Yuuri chuckled. "Babe?"

Victor's mind still not comprehending that Yuuri and Maccachin were really there was perhaps why he was talking trash. He gave him a wink and a heart-shaped pout. "Babe."

* * *

 _Screech._

 _Jitter._

 _Slide._

 _Slip._

 _The ice... the ice is so slippery. He is terribly unbalanced. He looks down and sees why; he isn't wearing skates, just his regular shoes. Leaving splotchy marks on the surface._

 _He doesn't understand why. It doesn't seem he was skating. He is out of breath, his temple is throbbing, his blood pressure is up. It feels more like... he is trying to run away._

 _He is responsible - right then he can't remember for what. But he is - and that's all he knows. He is running, stumbling, falling. The ice doesn't seem to end. Almost as if he is fleeing for his life on a post-apocalyptic earth buried beneath sheets and sheets of ice. And everything is just so slippery._

 _He looks down. He can see his reflection - silvery blonde hair, wide blue deep-set eyes, pale skin. But the reflection can't be his - the hair is dishevelled, as if he hasn't combed it in ages, and the face looks confident, his lips turning up into a - dare he say evil? - smile. That reflection doesn't seem to go through the internal turmoil, the anxiety or even the fear. It's creepy to watch._

 _"Don't look at me like that!" he screams. He's definitely going crazy._

 _"Seriously, are we gonna do this again? You know what you did. You know the ice takes away everything you love, and yet you can't leave it behind. What does that make you?"_

 _"Stop it..."_

 _"You can't run far enough. Your mistakes are catching up to you -"_

 _"No, stop -"_

 _"You'll see what lies ahead."_

 _What lies ahead? What is it talking about? He screws his eyes and tries to peek at the icy horizon. Maybe closer than that. Somebody has fallen on the floor. Somebody familiar._

 _He wants to glide to the person as fast as he can, but damn these shoes, he can't even stand properly. He hurtles towards the distance. The glare of the ice itches into his eyes. It's clearer now... it's..._

 _"Yuuri."_

 _He gasps, falls on his knees. His skin grazes against the surface. It bleeds, but he cannot care less. Why is Yuuri lying on the floor like that? They were practicing, weren't they? They were goofing about, and... and now suddenly it's ice everywhere, and he's just fallen to the floor. Is he sleeping? Why isn't... he... breathing?_

 _Desperately, he clasps Yuuri's hand. It's cold. It must be from the ice._

 _"Now look what you did. Oh Victor, when will you learn?"_

 _Who spoke? He ignores it. His priority is Yuuri right now._

 _"You said you won't let go."_

 _"I said I'm sorry! How many times do I need to say it?!" he cries out to whoever it is, while reaching out to Yuuri's body, cradling him in his arms. He doesn't like how Yuuri's hand flopped on the floor, or how his head lolled backwards. He seems so lifeless. "Wake up, love."_

 _"He won't wake up."_

 _"Shut it -"_

 _"You keep killing the things you love -"_

 _"SHUT IT!"_

He jerked awake. He had been dozing off on the couch while cleaning, a pile of different things on his lap. He shifted in discomfort, rubbing his head buzzing in the memory of what he just witnessed, clearing off some of the stuff and dropping off onto the cushion. He sighed. The same nightmare again and again. He was _so_ tired.

Just then he heard a flurry of footsteps; it was Yuuri, his usual medical mask on his face and Victor's old apron tied around his side, holding a carton. He was a little taken aback at Victor's blank face. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," answered Victor, as assuring as possible.

"You look tired."

"Jet-lagged."

Yuuri seemed to buy it. "This old spaghetti is all there is in the kitchen."

"It's the easiest thing to make," was Victor's excuse. Yuuri looking adorable with that wintery blush on his cheeks and the pink apron to go with it was apparently enough to distract him. "The rest everything I ate was restaurant takeout."

Yuuri hung his head in exasperation. "Okay, it's too late and too cold for groceries. Let's see what I can make of it."

So the dinner was spaghetti; due to the lack of sauce in the kitchen, Yuuri had put his own Japanese twist to it (Yuuri told him he had learnt these lifestyle hacks in his Detroit days). Whatever it was, it tasted good. Sleepy, Victor had placed the plates in the sink, and hinted upon watching a late-night movie, but Yuuri seemed to have other ideas in mind.

"Sex?" Victor tried to guess.

Yuuri bypassed maroon; it suddenly dawned on him they were out of parental restriction again. But he shrugged, "Um, yeah, but not what I was talking about."

He made Victor sit near the fireplace, his fingers entangling with his own. He stared at the floor and hesitated. Victor wasn't liking this; it threw flashbacks at a certain night in the hotel room at Barcelona.

"Victor, I've been so selfish," his voice felt heavy, "all this time, I've only been thinking about myself. My goals, my routines. Even after that... _that..._ I didn't think about how you must've felt. I just assumed. If I were at your place, I would be a wreck. I don't know, Victor, I thought if you keep away from me you'd be busy with other stuff and it'll be easier for you. Then again, I didn't think about how you'll feel. So it wasn't a solution. I'm sorry I've been like that. I know you need me right now just like I've needed you. And I'm never gonna leave your side. But I'm gonna ask you something, _and don't deny,_ because I already know the answer to it. Victor, are you okay?"

It was just like the night at Barcelona. Victor sensed a stream of hot tears erupting onto the surface - everything he had been bottling in - surged down his face.

"Damn, what did I do to deserve you?" Victor bit back his quivering lip. It was the only thing he could say before he broke down. He crumbled like he had never crumbled before, but the best part of it was how Yuuri held him against his chest. After all, this pain was a much sweeter pain.

"I'm not okay, Yuuri, I'm _not_ okay."

"Victor, listen to me," Yuuri's words had a sense of urgency to them, "we don't have to do this if it's giving you so much trouble. We don't have to return to ice. We'll retire together. We'll have a nice life. I forced you to announce your comeback, but it's okay if you don't want to."

He looked up at his fiancé's worried face. After he let it all out, Victor was calmer. More resolute; as if the storm had passed.

"We never skate _just_ for us, Yuuri."

* * *

 **I know it's a late update but my college reopened and hit me with its full force, lol. Also, things I wanted to say: I love you for all the love you guys have been giving this story. Just a forewarning, I won't probably hurt my babies physically (because I can't :P) but since the story is essentially about PTSD, so they are gonna suffer. It's an angst-riddled train, but I'll try and wrap it up with lots of fluff (I suck at fluff btw)! Please review! ^_^**


	6. V

V

* * *

First day at the Russian rink and Yuuri was too unsettled about the fact that he wasn't nervous at all.

Maybe it was because of the familiarity. He knew all of them - more or less. But what if they didn't like him? What if somebody thought he was just a lousy skater only arrived to infiltrate the Russian fort? That was hilarious, it couldn't be that bad. What if he made a fool of himself; at Hasetsu, he was used to practicing alone, it didn't matter if he kept falling in a spectacular fashion. _Falling in a spectacular fashion..._ right, after that fated gala, his worst fears had already been realised. Nothing could get worse than that, could it?

"Yuuri~" it was Victor crooning from the kitchen, "I made breakfast."

Yuuri smiled nervously, beads of sweat clamming his forehead. _He can't cook. But there's no smell of the kitchen on fire. What in the world is happening?_

He fished for his glasses on the side drawer. Everything was a bit clearer now; he put on his slippers and curiously strutted into the living room. It still looked emptyish, even after the tidying up they did last night. Yuuri guessed it'd remain so until their stuff is shipped back from Hasetsu. In any case, the table caught his attention.

Toast and eggs and milk. And none was burnt. Victor's effort was adorable.

Yuuri came up and hugged him from the back, nudging his forehead against Victor's shirt. He was usually not the one for random spurts of affection, but he promised he'd do whatever he could to make Victor feel better. If that meant being a clingy boyfriend, he wasn't really complaining. "It looks so good, I'm hungry," said Yuuri, "Sorry, morning breath."

Victor took him by surprise by whipping back and putting a kiss on his lips, "As if that's gonna stop me."

* * *

Sometimes Yuuri wanted to slap his anxious self for overthinking to a point it crossed all rational reasoning.

The Russian rink was amazing. It was bustling with people and energy (usually Yuuri would say he didn't like people, but maybe it was because he hadn't met the right ones). There were kids on the rink right then - some of them were really good, some had just begun formal training. When Yuuri and Victor entered, they eventually turned into the centre of attention; a number of hugs, a threat (it was Yurio, it _had_ to be him), and a scowl from Yakov ("How much more time are you planning to waste, Vitya!?").

Soon Victor left towards the locker and got on with the basic stretches, while a chubby kid tugged at Yuuri's sleeve with a notepad.

"Will you give me an autograph?" the small boy asked, so sweetly that Yuuri blushed.

"S-sure," he took the notepad and scribbled out a jittery-looking message.

"He's not visiting, Alek," it was Yurio, surprisingly softer towards the child than he typically was with adults, "He's gonna stay here and infiltrate the Russian army and learn all its secrets."

Yuuri's shoulders slumped, and he sighed. "I _knew_ that was coming."

Yurio smacked on his arm, a little harder than one would expect as a friendly gesture. "Don't worry, you're not the only non-Russian out here, piggy. This place's a circus of clowns anyway. Yakov yells a lot, but he thinks you're sane, and that's a compliment. Stay away from Mila, she can get you arrested. And Georgi, he'll out-drama your entire life story with one small talk. I'd have said stay away from Victor too, but you're little too deep in there to back out now."

Yuuri laughed. "You seem happy to have me here."

"Now I can kick your ass everyday."

"...Okay. That explains why."

Meanwhile, another yell from Yakov and Yurio marched off for the warm-up. Yuuri attached the blades to his shoes, and stretched a little. He was pumped up enough, what with jogging the whole distance from the apartment to the rink. He noticed Victor walking up to him, a little stiff, a little pale, his eyes fixed on the ice.

"You okay?" Yuuri touched his shoulder affectionately.

"Yeah," he nodded, "let's do this."

Yuuri clasped his hand to support him, emotionally more than anything else, even as they stepped onto the ice for a casual practice. Yuuri still didn't know what exactly troubled Victor - he understood it sourced from that accident - but what exactly had come out of it? Was Victor scared of simply skating on the ice again? Was he afraid of dropping Yuuri? What was it? Yuuri couldn't have asked him about - it was up to Victor when he laid bare his insecurities - right then, all Yuuri could do was stand by him like a wall to fall back on. And it was one hell of a tough job.

As soon as they glided to the middle, Victor's tight grasp on Yuuri's hand began to loosen. Yuuri breathed easy. _Victor's coming around._

"Yuuri, let's get done with your new programme," Victor smiled a shaky smile.

It broke Yuuri's heart. Victor was trying so hard; he was fighting under broad daylight and not even Yuuri had an idea about what kind of a demon it was. "M-my new programme? You mean the one I sent you?"

"Yes, of course we'll have to cut it short. It exceeds the time limit."

Yuuri was still confused. Was that routine even competition worthy? He guessed he'd never know unless he tried. And since his coach was showing confidence in it, he'd respect it. Yuuri inhaled a long breath, and posed for the music.

Victor liked to play the music really loud. He said if you didn't feel the music vibrate through your muscles, skating would not come naturally to you. Of course, loud music also meant a lot of heads had turned. Soon the huddle by the wall grew; even Yurio had stopped his warm-up and was watching intently. Yuuri tried to knock off the self-consciousness and focused on the routine. The mighty quad axel was coming...

"A - a quad axel?" Yurio was pretty much left dumbfounded after the music stopped.

For the lack of a better response, Yuuri grinned at him, sheepishly scratching the back of his head. Victor had gone to the other side, leaning against the wall with a piece of paper, calculating the timings and scores and jump combinations.

" _Tch,_ " Yurio slammed a fist into the air, his friendly disposition gone and the edge returned, "I'll see you, pig."

"That was amazing, Yuuri," it was Mila, and she seemed a little awestruck, "Oh boy, that was really _really_ awesome."

"Th-thanks, Mila."

She came up to his shoulder and whispered, "Don't tell Yurio, my money's on you for the Worlds."

That was quite flattering. Yuuri had begun to bypass maroon. "No, really - "

" _Stop that song!"_

They wheeled at that sudden scream. It was quite literally, a scream. Yuuri's heart dropped to his stomach. "Victor?"

Victor was half-crouched, his back against the wall, hands on his ears. The notepad and pen had flopped on the ice beside him. He looked - _traumatised_ \- on the verge of tears - as if he just watched someone get run over by a car. Yuuri darted towards him.

" _Stop that fucking song immediately_!" he yelled again, not caring that he just uttered an obscenity in front of children. Nobody knew which song he was talking about; in the mish-mash of noise, catching any particular tune was hard.

"Stop all the music," Yuuri ordered the entire rink. He had never done anything this high-handed before, but it happened to come automatically out of some sense of urgency. Looking at Victor's sudden state, others complied. Yuuri reached out a trembling hand of help at the screaming, sobbing Victor.

It turned out the culprit was a small unaware kid who had played Victor's _Stammi Vicino_ performance to try and copy his moves. The moment the song stopped, Victor's breathing came to normal - more or less. He still wasn't making eye contact, gazing into the wall with wide, horrified eyes.

"I can't... I can't do this... It's too painful, I can't..."

Yuuri felt a lump in his throat. Somehow managing to put on a brave face, he tried to console him, touching him on the shoulder like he did a while before. "Victor, let's go home. We can go home."

"No..."

"Victor -"

"You don't _understand_!" Victor yelled again. It was frankly terrifying. He hadn't seen Victor like this before.

"I'm- I'm sorry, I know I don't, but it's giving you trouble -"

"Let it go," it sounded icy cold.

Yuuri didn't. "No."

"I said let it _go_!" Victor snapped, his arm flying out to flick away Yuuri's hand from his shoulder. The impact of the arm swing hit Yuuri hard, as he lost his balance and fell on his behind right on the ice. It wasn't a big deal, but it made Victor flinch and gasp, and then look at his hand as if he just committed murder.

"Victor," Yuuri was running out of words to say. The situation, this conversation, anything he said - everything was turning for the worse.

Before anyone could blink, Victor stormed off the rink, gliding so fiercely it dented the ice deep. Yuuri wanted to run after him, but there seemed no point to it. Suddenly there was a huge wall between them, and Victor was on the other end, fighting, struggling, eventually growing to hate him, but never letting him through. Yuuri hadn't sensed this sort of distance from Victor before, and it wrenched through his heart like a white-hot wire. He clenched his fists and blinked back the tears. This could be mended, _right?_

He felt worthless. Last year Victor was there to pick up the broken pieces of his life and helped him put them back together. And now, when Victor needed him, he didn't even know how to approach him. Maybe he wasn't even trying his best.

 _Selfish. Spineless. Deep down I always knew Victor deserves better._

* * *

"Are you done moping?"

 _Selfish. Spineless_. He just kept repeating the same words in his head until they looked like truth, until they felt like they were coming right from Victor. His insides lurched; it was evening already and he hadn't been home - frankly, he felt a little ashamed about facing Victor again. Yuuri's self-loathing just increased ten-fold as soon as he realised all he had done for the day was pity himself rather than looking for a solution to Victor's problem. He called on Victor's phone a number of times, but none was received. He finally found a speck of relief when Victor uploaded a picture of Maccachin on Instagram a few minutes ago. Victor was at home, and he seemed okay.

"Huh?" Yuuri turned to find the fifteen-year old. Yuuri looked away immediately; his eyes must've puffed up from the continuous crying, and he wasn't in the mood for a dissing match with Yurio.

Yurio passed him a bottle, "Why are you crying your eyes out?"

"It's nothing," Yuuri sensed a throbbing pain at the side of his head but shook it off.

"I've no business to know anyway," he sneered, "I came here because Yakov asked Georgi to ask Mila to ask me to ask you, what the fuck was that in the morning? We've been seeing Victor for around ten years and no one has ever seen anything like that before. What are you doing to him, huh?"

Yuuri's eyes began to brim with tears that trickled down his cheeks before he could realise. Yurio did a double-take at that reaction, "I was kidding about that last line, you can't be _that_ daft, c'mon." He smacked Yuuri on the arm again, probably to cheer him up.

"He is suffering," Yuuri mumbled, "It's my fault." To a certain extent, it was. If only he had been more careful, if only he hadn't fallen... or at least not knocked himself out and given Victor the fright of a lifetime...

"Eh? I don't get it. Elaborate."

He sighed. "After that accident, I think Victor is suffering from some kind of trauma. It maybe PTSD, I don't know - I should know, but I don't..." And that was exactly where he was a horrible person, and a horrible partner.

"Look I don't know whatever the hell you're talking about, just tell him to suck it up and behave himself tomorrow."

"It doesn't work that way, Yurio." Yuuri could tell the boy was concerned, but he never just had the right way to channel it out. Probably the one characteristic he shared with his namesake.

"And by the way," Yurio followed up with grumbling something in Russian to Yuuri's confused face, "but I'll destroy you. Remember that, _pig_!" With it, he aggressively stomped off towards the locker room as if Yuuri's existence just vanished with a poof. Yurio had been switching his personalities too much today.

"Huh?"

"He said he's impressed with your new routine," it was Mila this time, "I told you it was awesome!"

"Thanks," Yuuri chuckled half-heartedly.

"Did you have lunch, Yuuri? I thought I saw you standing here for the whole day..."

"Yeah, I -uh, had something a while ago," he lied, even as his stomach growled in protest. The lunch he had packed in the morning lay cold inside his bag. To be honest he didn't really practice today, so it didn't matter.

Mila hadn't left; she stood with an expectant smile on her face, perhaps waiting for Yuuri to say something - something that'd lead the conversation towards Victor. Yuuri understood all of them were long-time rinkmates and it was natural to be worried, but Yuuri felt awkward: he had known them for just a day, he couldn't just open his heart out.

"I'm really sorry about how Victor was in the morning," he started, "I mean - it's not his fault, he's just going through a crisis." _Shut up, Yuuri. Shut up, right now. You're making Victor look weak in front of everyone._

"Ah, Yuuuri, don't worry about it," Mila's eyes were a brighter shade of blue when she grinned, "I have seen something like this before. It's always better to be out than in."

 _What does she mean, having seen this before? She's radically contradicting Yurio. But then again, Yurio is much younger._ Yuuri decided to pry, "I, uh, don't understand."

"It's a weird place, Yuuri. I joined here when I was a kid. Even then I idolised Victor, I wanted to be like him. First the junior division, then the seniors... Victor was like the king of the world! But soon I learnt what it meant - overachieving meant fame, money, millions of fans... always maintain appearances, look there, _smile_ , don't fucking disappoint, keep signing autographs till your hands wear out... just don't stop smiling. It didn't matter if your dog died, or your parents left you for Germany. Nothing mattered but that smile."

It wasn't clear whether she talked about herself or Victor. Yuuri couldn't ask; it felt like betraying Victor - he didn't want to know anything about Victor's past that Victor hadn't told him himself. "But Victor really cares about his fans."

"I know he does," she said, "because he's a great human being. But haven't you ever seen him giving off fake smiles, especially when he's angry or nervous?"

Yuuri wouldn't lie. _Yes._

"The thing is, Yuuri, he has always bottled in his frustration. He had no one to talk to, not in this way at least. Until you came. You are the only one who brings him back to his roots. If there's a problem, I'm sure you can find a way, because Victor has finally stopped hiding, Yuuri."

How was he going to find an answer though? He was no Victor. He was a murky cloud to Victor's ray of sunlight. He couldn't cheer him up that way. He could give him hugs and reassurances, he could stay up all night listening to Victor talk... about anything, anything at all. He'd do all he could to make Victor feel loved. He'd pamper him, spoil him for good. But that was it. He had no magic spell.

He hoped Mila didn't catch the crack in his voice when he spoke, picking up his bag and leaving for home.

"I just want him to shine again."

* * *

 **Yeah, I'm like a bazillion years late. Sorry! ^•^**

 **I first thought to give the last part of the chapter to Yurio, but then thought he is a little too young to deliver this kind of knowledge, and also I love Mila, so here we go. Drop in a review if you like!**


	7. VI

VI

* * *

Victor woke up to the grey slush of the morning frost against the window and the arms of his fiancé unconsciously hugging his curve. He blinked back and something sent a rush of blood to his head, speeding up his heart beat. His outburst last day felt like a distant memory - more like a memory he wanted to be distanced from.

He acted like a damn baby. It was irrational, stupid, and nothing had ever been worse than when his fear spiked up. Although it was scary for a while - he sensed as if the song was booming from every direction, just like _that_ night, closing in on him, choking him with a bike chain - it still wasn't so bad that he had to yell at Yuuri, push him off balance. Hurt him again.

 _Again._

It was like a cycle. It was like an ill omen. It was like they were not meant to be together.

The apartment wasn't too far from the home rink. Last day, he had sprinted all the way, not looking back, somehow managing to breathe, hurtled up the stairs and locked the door. He had hoped Yuuri hadn't followed him, and Yuuri didn't. There had been no point to it. Or maybe, Yuuri had been just too shocked.

Breathe. _Breathe_. Victor had ordered himself, crumpling down on the rug, his back against the couch, his knees to his chest. Maccachin had purred around him, worried. Crying had never come naturally to Victor. He'd tried, but his eyes had been parched and dry. He had no outlet, except to sit by, think, estimate, repent.

He had felt so messed up. There was no way he could win or even skate at the Nationals in this state.

 _"The entire world is waiting for you, Victor. You don't realise how many of us still look up to you. Are you gonna disappoint us all?"_

The clock was ticking. He hardly had a month left to prepare two different programmes. There was no way he would be able to match up to those sky-high expectations, especially after being out of spotlight for a year. Chris told him the only reason he furthered another season was because he wanted Victor Nikiforov on ice again. Victor Nikiforov on ice. His shoulders were crumbling from the weight of that name.

But the worst part happened yesterday. And it came from the person he least expected from.

Yuuri. He _pitied_ him. He looked at him like a wounded, helpless animal. He looked like he was about to cry. Cry for Victor. No, Victor didn't need this. It wasn't empathy. It could never be.

Yuuri needed to mend that mistake and he wasn't talking to him until he did. Victor reconsidered. Maybe he should communicate about this. But how? _Don't pity me, don't pity me ever again -_ it didn't quite come out the way it sounded in his head when put to words. No, Yuuri should know better. Yuuri must figure this on his own. Victor would lead him there but Yuuri had his work cut out for himself.

Still, Victor couldn't stay mad. It wasn't humanly possible to stay mad at his innocent brown eyes. Also, Victor didn't want to grumble all day knowing how Yuuri left everything behind in Japan and settled here in St. Petersburg in a blink, and realising how his cold treatment might peak Yuuri's insecurities instead of serving its real purpose. Victor understood Yuuri to the bone, and it was time Yuuri did too.

"Hey," came a mumble. Yuuri rubbed his groggy eyes and pulled himself up, "Good morning."

"Good morning, Yuuri," he tried to sound... polite?

Yuuri grabbed his spectacles and stretched his eyes wide, probably trying to shake off the blurriness, "Um, I'm sorry about last day."

Why was he apologising? Was he apologising because he had a sudden epiphany in his dream about where he went wrong, or because he had grown a habit of it and it was the easiest way out?

"It's okay, I'm sorry too."

"Victor - "

"No, seriously, I am. I shouldn't have yelled."

"You're mad at me."

So Yuuri _did_ understand him. Victor felt the weird suffocation in his chest relaxing. He let out a small smile. "Really, I'm not, Yuuri. It's a Sunday. Do you want to eat out or something? I know the best breakfast place two blocks away."

"Uh, actually," Yuuri seemed to have other ideas, as he reached out for the jacket hung near the wardrobe and pulled out a slip of paper from one of the pockets, "I thought it'd be nice if we get to talk to someone. I got us an appointment with Anna... Anna Sevo... Sevostyanova."

Victor knew her. He had gone to her before. When he was really, really young. "A shrink? Where did you get her card from?"

"I -er, I asked Yakov," he murmured, before adding hurriedly, "I told him I was having anxiety issues again. I got us two separate appointments, so I thought one of us could walk Maccachin around while the other's in there."

"Oh."

"...So? I'll cancel if you don't want to go. No pressure."

If Victor bit down his pride, it might just be a good idea. In any case, he needed an outlet. "Okay. I'll come."

* * *

"I've been having bad dreams. Not just at night. Any time of the day. It's getting me riled up and hogging my time, and I don't have much left to spare before the Nationals. At the same time... well, _ah,_ I don't want to let down my fans either."

It was a small, comfortable room but Victor couldn't shake off a weird sensation about it. The couch was too soft - he felt as if his butt just sank to the depths of hell; the coffee was too bitter, and the woman, with her steel rimmed spectacles and wise wrinkles and everything, looked a little... bored? A younger, splitting image triggered his memory from the last time he visited; was she bored that time too?

 _Who cares. Just get it over with._ He wanted to get out. Yuuri said he packed lunches for a small picnic. This'd be their last off day before the season began and Victor didn't want to spend half of it inside this room. He wondered what Yuuri told this shrink. With a face as stony as that, she must've had totally intimidated him.

"So, Victor," the lady spoke, "if you're having difficulties sleeping I can prescribe you sleeping pills, but I need to be sure that you're not... you know..."

 _What, suicidal?_ "No, no," he jumped, "Nothing like that. I'm actually very happy. I mean, I was very happy until that... incident... Trust me, I'm not depressed or anything. I'm about to get married and -"

He stopped midway. So where was the problem?

"That's great to hear, Victor," she smiled genuinely for the first time, "When's the occasion?"

"Uh, actually I told my fiancé as a joke that we can't get married until he wins gold," he chuckled along. A little uneasy. "We haven't started planning or anything, but I think we'll do it after the Worlds. Also, _ah_ , I wanted to take him by surprise there and pop the question. Like, I know he has done it already, but I wanted to do it again. More official and less vague."

He wouldn't lie. Talking about weddings and future plans and Yuuri... he was feeling better. Maybe this was a good idea, after all.

The lady pulled up her spectacles, and gazed - almost like a soothsayer. She had saucer-like, eccentric, cerulean blue eyes, and Victor found the situation a little funny, even as he bit back a smirk. She crossed her legs, and picked up her coffee, almost as if passing the final verdict.

"Victor, you have a wonderful life ahead. I think it's time you stop thinking about that incident again and again inside your head. The more you think about it, the harder it'll be to separate dream from reality and you'll turn it into something it isn't. Yuuri doesn't blame you. But you _need_ to stop. I'll teach you some breathing exercises next time you get a fit of anxiety..."

Victor clenched his fists and looked away. His heart dropped to his stomach. How obvious had he been that the lady caught on about it without him slipping up that detail? As if he wasn't already trying hard enough.

 _Who cares. Just get it over with._

* * *

"Yuuri...?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you believe in soulmates?"

No matter how cold the weather was, a certain warmth never left Yuuri's cheeks. That was why, stuck between the icy metal bench and the frosty grass and the overcoat whose surface had slowly started to sag thanks to the moist winds, Victor chose to snuggle against the warmth of his cheeks. It wasn't much of a choice anyway. The fact that Victor had planned on being pissed at Yuuri in the morning had slipped immaculately out of his mind, now that they sat in the park, Maccachin running about in the open space in glee.

"Soulmates?"

"Uh huh."

Yuuri blushed. He cast a glance at their interlocked fingers, rubbing at his ring, "Um, I don't know."

Yuuri hadn't asked him a word about what went in the shrink's room. They ought to be picnicking but the weather drastically changed and the grass got too soggy to sit on, so they planned on waiting until the restaurant right next to the park opened for its afternoon shift. However, Victor hadn't simply asked to initiate a random conversation. "You don't know?"

"I don't know. I mean - um, I think it exists but not in a mythical way. Like - um, two people who understand each other the best - that'd be soulmates, right? Red strings and all... I don't know, sometimes they can sound flimsy."

"You don't think _we_ were fated?" Their meeting each other was spurred by the longest chain of events, it was undeniable.

Yuuri did his little laugh. "I was in love with you for so long I can't fixate at a particular point in my life."

"Oh, Yuuri!" he almost leaped on him, settling his chin into the collar of Yuuri's coat even as Yuuri gave out a giant sneeze, his nose reddening up in an instant.

"The weather wasn't supposed to be this bad today," he sniffed on his glove.

"Are you cold?" Victor pulled off his own scarf.

Victor loved how easily flustered Yuuri could get. "What - no, Victor put that back on, you're gonna catch a cold -"

"I'm more used to this kind of weather than you are," he grinned, wrapping the scarf around Yuuri's neck in spirals. Soon enough, the only visible part of Yuuri's face were his eyes, sandwiched between the scarves and the woollen cap.

" _Hmmw amph I sphhposed tph talk like thphis_ ," came a muffled, exasperated reaction through the fabric.

"Why are you so adorable?"

" _Amph I sphhposed tph answpher thapht?"_

* * *

Victor wondered what kind of a surprise Yuuri kept for him at the end of the day. Nonetheless, he was very excited about it.

The excitement, however, disappeared like air out of a punctured balloon, and something quivered at the pit of his stomach as soon as he noticed Yuuri taking that familiar pathway.

To be honest, after what he did last day - in front of dozens of people - and what he did to Yuuri - he wasn't just _embarrassed_ embarrassed. He was embarrassed in a way he'd never been before. So embarrassed that for a split-second, he wanted his resolve to go to hell, and to never see the face of the ice again. Let alone competing, he wanted to quit coaching too. He wanted to dig a burrow and hide himself from everyone, the world, the media, the fans, Yakov, Yurio - even Yuuri. The shrink lady was right; what began as a nightmare had now started to turn into something else - it had begun to engulf his hopes and dreams - his entire existence.

"Yuuri," he stopped on his tracks, surprising Maccachin who knocked into his shin, "I'm not feeling right about this."

Yuuri seemed... confident. "Do you not trust me?"

"I do but - "

"It'll be okay. I promise."

And then Yuuri gave him a smile, a smile he knew he couldn't refuse even if Yuuri were leading him over the edge of a cliff, let alone an ice rink.

So Victor followed. Yuuri opened the door (God knew how he got his hand over the keys; furthermore it was surprisingly empty and locked at this time of the day, before it struck Victor... _Sunday, only seniors, half shift...still doesn't explain the keys though..._ ). Every step echoed in the quiet of the rink. Victor felt as if his insides had shrunken into a ball.

Regardless, he removed the guards and pulled on the blades. Yuuri did the same. Victor sighed, "So, shall we skate?"

Yuuri came up to him with a piece of cloth. "I'm going to blindfold you."

"What, Yuuri -"

Too late. He was blinded now. All he had now was Yuuri's voice and his warm hand clutching his. The nerve of annoyance twinged at Victor's forehead. "Is this a joke, Yuuri?"

"Certainly not, Victor. Just follow me." Yuuri pulled him up on the feet. He walked. Soon the floor transitioned into ice and he jerked forth, but thanks to Yuuri's strong grip he didn't fall flat on his face.

"It's like teaching a kid," he grumbled, heat flaring up around his collar. Still, the slippery surface, the glare of the ice (so strong it could pierce through the cloth, through his eyelids), the ease of the blade cutting through the surface... triggered something... bad...

"Victor, how do you feel?"

Yuuri needed to stop being so ambiguous right now. Victor felt all the blood rush to his head again. "Not good, Yuuri."

With his eyes closed, he couldn't even focus on the walls, or the seats, or the lights or even Yuuri's face. All he could feel was the surface sliding from under his feet. This was _exactly_ like his nightmare. No, not now. He had to defeat it. He decided to imagine a tunnel of darkness instead, Yuuri's voice being at the end of it. He tried to reach it.

 _the voice_

 _the voice_

 _the body on the ice_

 _No, no. Fucking no._

 _The voice._

 _the voice_

 _"_ Victor, do you remember the time we were practicing jumps and I bopped you on the head because I felt like it?"

His lips curved into a smile. Yes, that was funny. For some mysterious reason, that bopping action had a calming effect on Victor. That time, he had proclaimed his balding fears were about to come true, and melted into the ice dramatically. He had loved getting Yuuri all nervous so he went an extra mile with the drama.

Yuuri spoke again, "And d'you remember you told me about that little girl who burst into tears when you threw her a flower?"

Yes, it was right before he started to lose inspiration. It was a little girl, but the way she cried and the sincerity in her eyes got him to realise the connection he shared with all those who watched him skate and how important he was -

 _ice_

 _stammi vicino_

 _fall_

 _the body on the ice_

His face tensed up again. _Focus._

 _the voice_

 _the voice_

"And Victor, do you remember that time you were goofing about and showing me twerking steps when we were supposed to create my free skate programme?"

This time, Victor laughed out loud, his heart beat easing. "I hope you're not recording this."

"And that time we made love on ice?"

Finally, he ripped the blindfold off. "What?!"

Yuuri was wheezing with laughter, his eyes glistening. "I meant, my theme. Love on ice. What did you think?"

"You little shit."

Yuuri glided close to him, so close Victor could feel his breath on his face. "I asked you to stay with me one more year so I can win the gold for you. And I'm gonna give my everything to win it. But you'll have to promise me something."

"Anything, Yuuri."

"You're going to win the gold for me."

"Huh?"

"Yes, Victor. And I'm not going to make it easy for you. Well, I guess by the end of the season one of us won't be able to keep his promise... are you up for the challenge?"

 _He didn't look down on me. He never pitied me._

An absurd surge of tears simply surfaced and leaked from the corners of his eyes. Victor had never felt this loved before. He'd never had a spurt of affection this big towards Yuuri before. Without warning, he grabbed Yuuri's face and rammed his lips against his. Yuuri was taken aback for a moment, but kissed him back, slowly, sensually, his arm snaking around Victor's waist. Yuuri hardly took control, but when he did, it was an experience out of the world.

Yuuri left butterfly kisses over the stains of Victor's tears, his warmth sending a chill down Victor's spine. They sank to their knees, never minding the numbing ice, arms wrapped around each other's bodies, gasping at every speck of heat their fingers could find. The entire space was calm - _so_ calm - almost like the calm before a storm.

Victor broke apart, pulled his hand out of Yuuri's shirt and scratched the back of his own head instead. "So, what d'ya say," he laughed cheekily, "It's an empty place. You wanna make another... love on ice?"

Yuuri smirked. "Eros mode activated."

"Hmm. Kinky."

* * *

 **[Shhh... a happy chapter... now all aboard the angst train that isn't going to have a lot of rest stops.. it's a secret.]**

 **Is my Yuuri bias showing? :3 (Yes I want him to skate on my face. I love Victor too, though.)**

 **When I was watching the show, during the cliffhanger and the one week between episode 11 and 12, I noticed a lot of people saying that 'Relax, Victor won't go back to skating, he's dedicated his career to Yuuri' which was completely true, but Victor's I-am-never-going-back attitude started to change in episode 11 and completely flipped in episode 12 when both his records were broken, and he took upon himself a humongous task of coaching and competing. ... Which made me think, _man,_ Victor is extremely competitive and loves challenges. So there's that. **

**I was reading up here and there and I saw that Japanese people don't say "I love you" directly to each other (Aishiteru?) Can someone confirm this? And Victor loves being forthcoming... hmm... culture gap... miscommunication ... interesting...(take my evil ideas away from me). ._.**

 **Anyway, drop a review if you like!**


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